His Eyes
by bleeckerstreet12345
Summary: Heartbreak. It’s just an expression right? Because scientifically it can’t happen.I mean your heart can't actually break...


Heartbreak. It's just an expression right? Because scientifically it can't happen. I mean your heart can actually break. I learned that in like fifth grade science class. You can't die of boredom or Heartbreak.  
  
Right?   
  
I want something that makes sense for once. I want a scientific explanation as to why, exactly, I fell in love with a ghost and why it feels like my heart is physically breaking. Why does it hurt so much? Not just emotionally, physically too. Why do I feel like someone knocked the wind out of me?   
  
Why isn't he here to ask me if I'm okay?   
  
I cried at first. After he left. But after those first gut wrenching sobs I just felt empty. Like I was hallow inside. Whenever I saw him my stomach used to start doing back flips. Now I'm not sure I have a stomach anymore. I don't need to eat. I barely need to breath. I'm definitely alive though. Dead guys obviously don't have hearts to break.  
  
  
  
Okay that wasn't fair. I guess it wasn't technically his fault. I knew he had to move on someday. Father Dom reminded me almost every day. But it never really sank in you know? There has never been I time when I've really believed I've lost Jesse. Even now, I don't believe it. I miss, god do I miss him, but I'm still convinced he's coming back. And to tell you the truth I'm not trying all that hard to convince myself either. Because the idea of spending the rest of my life in mourning over someone who had died 150 years before I met him.... I can't think about that. If I think about that I'll collapse. Me. Suze Simon. Losing it over some guy.   
  
Some guy who happened to mean the world to me.  
  
Some guy who had the nerve to only stick around for a week after he told me he loved me. That was without a doubt the best week of my life. And then he left.   
  
I woke up in the middle of the night because I had that feeling. You know that feeling in the pit of your stomach where you just know something is wrong. I opened my eyes and saw Jesse sitting on the edge of my bed looking at me. But for some reason he looked slightly panicked. He reached out towards me,  
  
"Querida..." he said softly, his voice breaking. Then he was gone. That was it. I was scared at first. Scared that Paul had summoned him, scared that something was really wrong. And I was right, something was really wrong.   
  
I refused to believe he'd moved on. Refused to see what was right in front of me. I went back up to that Shadowland place and talked to the gate keeper. The Gate Keeper just shook his head.  
  
"He had to go." he said. I still didn't believe it. I still don't. There's got to be some way to get him back. There HAS too. Jesse can't move on. It's not fair. He can't just leave me here like this.   
  
I guess I never really understood what it was like. Losing someone you love. It's even worse if you're a mediator though. Because if you're the average teenage girl and the guy your in love with dies, you can move on, sort of. But after a certain period of time you can accept that they're not coming back. If you're a mediator...nothing about death is certain. I can find a million excuses as to where Jesse went.   
  
I have a portrait. A small, stolen portrait. That's it. The love of my life disappears and all I get is a portrait. But to tell you the truth I don't need that portrait. I can remember him so well sometimes I can almost convince myself that he's here. That it was all a big misunderstanding.   
  
His eyes I can see especially well. His eyes and the sound of his laugh. He had these eyes that were like whirlpools, they pulled you in, you could feel yourself getting lost in them.   
  
He's going to be what I never forget. When I get old and get Alzheimers or something, he's going to be what I remember.  
  
It's been six years since he left. I'm back in New York again, working as a journalist. I try to avoid visiting my family in California because when I visit them, I have to stay in my room, and when I stay in that room it hurts too much. When I'm in that room, if I stare at the window seat for long enough I start to believe I can see him sitting there reading, trying not to laugh to loud so he wouldn't wake me up. Or looking out at the bay. Or grinning at me. Or demanding to know exactly where I was last night. He's been dead and gone for 157 years, and I can still feel him in that room.   
  
I have a boyfriend here. He's sweet, good looking, he loves me.   
  
I wish I could love him back.  
  
I wish my heart didn't start racing whenever a ghost materialized around me.  
  
I wish I could convince myself that my heart didn't start racing because I thought it was Jesse.   
  
I wish I didn't hole up in my apartment for a week when I heard a guy on the street say "Querida."   
  
I wish I wasn't living proof that your heart can break. It doesn't just break either, it completely tears itself to pieces.   
  
  
  
It's been six years and I can still see his eyes. 


End file.
